


Frodo's Prize Pie

by Aria_Breuer



Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen, food!fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-20
Updated: 2017-02-20
Packaged: 2018-09-25 20:28:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9842513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aria_Breuer/pseuds/Aria_Breuer
Summary: Frodo has done it! He just made his family raspberry pie. If only his pie could stay the way it was… My take on the food!fic cliché.An over 200 word drabble.





	

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimers:** I do not own The Lord of the Rings. J.R.R. Tolkien does.
> 
> So here we are with another popular cliché, and that is on food. Somehow, it seems I like giving our heroes a challenge. And somehow, it always seems to work out just fine. :)

DING!

Frodo Baggins zoomed into the kitchen, with its beige painted walls and wood paneled floor. But that was not his concern at the moment. For a curly brown haired hobbit with a bright eye and nerves of steel, he certainly didn’t want this pie to go to waste. Pulling down the oven lid, he pulled out the golden-brown pie out of the stove using the blue colored kitchen mittens his Aunt Dora gave to him. It was the least she could do.

“AH!” Frodo yelped softly. The iron pan nearly burnt the skin off the palms of his hands. He set the gushing pinkish-red berry pie down, closing the stove lid a moment later. Eureka! He made his first raspberry pie! He patted himself on the back… well, now he needed to wash his hands… yes! His hands almost bled.

ZOOM!

He spun around. Someone was in the kitchen, eating his pie. He peered down at the pie, his bleeding bruises nearly forgotten. His hands stung. He collapsed on the floor without so much as recognition.

“Frodo…”

“Merry?” Frodo asked, looking up at his hobbit cousin and friend. The darkness resumed. His hands hurt. He awoke. His fingernails were digging into the skin of his palms. He released them. There was hardly any bruising or bleeding. That was good. His hands were just sore. He was back in his bed at Brandy Hall. And there was his young cousin Merry Brandybuck, with his brown hair and those innocent eyes.

“Come on, Frodo. Let’s play with the horses,” Merry said, zipping out of the bedroom.

Frodo sighed. Just another day at Brandy Hall.

The End.


End file.
